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Light of Heaven	By : Draeconin Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 28741 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Light of Heaven

by Draeconin

See chapter one for ratings, summary and other details.

Disclaimer: If you don't recognize it, it's mine. Everything else belongs to the copyright holders.

Chapter Thirteen
Due to Dumbledore's injured pride, having had his plans and manipulations come to naught, he refused to just let Twinkie go, and spitefully set a bond-price four times what it should have been. Conall didn't even blink. He paid it, then sent a message both to the Ministry of Magic, and 'The Daily Prophet', reporting everything he knew of Dumbledore's manipulations and dealings (except those that might aid Voldemort, of course). He also sent a copy of the contract Dumbledore had signed transferring Twinkie's bond to him to the Ministry of Magic, just in case the headmaster got vindictive and later accused him of 'stealing' the house-elf.

Dumbledore couldn't do anything about Dobby's leaving, however, since the elf was an employee and had the right to quit his employment - a fact that other house elves considered rather scandalous.

Although not literally slaves, house elves were often treated as bond-servants; this despite the fact that the only thing keeping a house elf to the 'master' they or an ancestor had chosen was their extreme sense of honour, which would keep them with even an abusive master, even unto being murdered by him or her. That sense of honour was also what allowed their non-existent contract to be sold to another, and honoured by the elf. Fortunately for their peace of mind, that was a very rare occurrence.
Harry had once asked Dobby why they subjected themselves to servitude when there were no rewards in it for them. The answer had surprised him. It turned out that the race of elves that Dobby and Twinkie belonged to were actually a warrior caste. Those who either weren't fit, or refused to serve in that capacity, for whatever reason, were the ones who wound up as house elves. Most house elves were cast out of their demesne for 'cowardice'. Having seen some of the things Dobby had dared, he wondered what standards the rest of the race had to live up to. Needing protection, shelter, and a means of earning sustenance, they chose servitude; they felt themselves worthy of nothing more.
Giving the message and contract to Hedwig, along with telling her where they were to go, Conall then told her to look for him heading northeast from the castle upon her return. Due to circumstances he knew nothing of, and she was unable to compensate for, Hedwig would never catch up to them, but would be well looked after by Hermione. The former Gryffindor then headed to the dungeons to find Drake and help him with any potions he'd been able to get from Snape.
Fortunately the Professor had decided to be generous to his favourite former pupil. Not only was there a good supply of various medical potions, but Snape had spelled the various flasks and vials to make them unbreakable; a necessity for those traveling the hard way - which is to say, covering every foot of ground, instead of being able to apparate or fly. On the way out, Conall suddenly decided that one generosity deserved another.
"Professor Snape?"
"Yes, what is it, boy?" Snape snarled.
Conall took off his glasses and put them on the professor's desk. "I thought I should probably give you a gift." Although he'd told his mate about not needing his glasses, he had, out of habit, been wearing them while outside of their rooms.
"And what would I need with those, Potter? You'll be tripping all over your feet, out there; not that you're much better with them!"
"Ah, still in fine form, Professor. No, I thought you might like a reminder. You see, I don't need them; I haven't for a few years, now."
Snape impatiently snapped "So you finally decided to let someone fix those myopic things, did you Potter? About time!"
"No, Professor, I didn't. I did it myself. Turns out that I'm actually quite good with potions. My only problem in your class, was you. How many..."
"How dare you! Get out!" the professor interrupted.
"When I've had my say, Snape," Conall replied, fighting to stay calm. "As I said, I'm leaving these spectacles for you as a reminder; a reminder to leave your personal prejudices outside of the classroom. How many promising potions pupils have you ruined because of your temper, your sarcasm? You..."
"If they're not strong enough..." Snape interrupted strongly, fuming.
Annoyed with being interrupted yet again, as well as those few words Snape had uttered, Conall interrupted in his own turn. "Strength, either of body or character, is not needed for potions, Snape, as you well know! It is not your place to inflict your temper upon them, to make of them your whipping posts: teach what you know, and leave everything else outside the classroom."
Snape sneered. Down deep, he knew 'Potter' was probably right, but again his pride got the better of him. "Still trying to be the hero, eh, Potter? Well, it's my classroom, and I'll teach as I bloody well see fit. Now, get out!"
Conall turned and went to the door, then turned again. "I do hope, for your sake, that the Hogwarts Board of Directors agrees with you after they've read my letter," he said quietly, then closed the door behind him. There was no letter, nor would there be one. He was putting his faith in Snape's sense of perfectionism and professionalism, for the most part, although a small part of him also wanted to believe, for his mate's sake, that there was enough humanity left in the potions master to feel guilt, so that he'd try to do the right thing.
Back in the classroom, Snape picked up the glasses, looked at them for the longest moment, and then with a grimace, threw them violently across the room.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Suddenly, all the preparations were done. Everything was packed, and shrunk down to fit into a muggle book bag that 'Harry' had brought from the Dursleys'; a cast-off of Dudley's. And now it was time to leave. Even though Dumbledore had refused to let classes out so people could say goodbye, 'most everyone who knew 'Harry Potter' and 'Draco Malfoy', and cared at all, had shown up to see them off. After a lot of hand-shaking, hugs, and tears from some of those being left behind, they were finally on their way.
Ron and Hermione had made up, or at least called a truce, in time to get to the leave-taking, and had insisted on walking with Conall and Drake "to the end of Hogwarts property, at least." It was probably a mistake. Little was said, and far from the silence being companionable, it turned out to be stressed, and awkward.
"Um... Har- Conall, I just noticed; where are your glasses?" Ron asked.
Conall's cheeks tinted a bit as he answered. "I gave them to Snape - as an object lesson."
Ron frowned. "Gave them to that greasy git? Why ever for? You need them, don't you?"
"I fixed my eyes in my third year. Brewed a potion," Harry explained.
Ron laughed. "Yeah, right, mate. And I'm the ruddy Queen of England. You're no better in potions than I am!"
"Not when Snape was around, anyway," Conall replied quietly.
Ron stared at his friend. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Just what I said, Ron. He intimidated the hell out of me first year, and has always made me nervous and jittery in his class since then. But after that fiasco in the Chamber of Secrets, fighting that basilisk, I decided that I couldn't depend on wearing glasses; what if they were knocked off, or broken in a fight? I'd be nigh on to helpless! So, I started studying potions on my own, focusing on learning a potion to cure my eyesight. Near the end of third year, I successfully completed it; but let me tell you, there were some fairly hairy times with previous attempts!" Conall shuddered, with a wry grin, then continued. "So anyway, I found that I'm actually rather good with potions - or rather, I was. Without wizarding magic..."
Drake decided to enter the conversation. "Without magic, the ingredients you put into a potion just become a disgusting glop."
Hearing the pain in his mate's voice, Conall stepped closer and took Drake's hand. "And for someone who was almost a potions genius, the loss must be especially painful."
"What do you mean, 'almost'? I was a potions genius!" Drake sneered.
Conall chuckled. "Whatever you say, love," he said, then leaned over and kissed the blond on the cheek.
"Hmph! Don't think that's going to get you off, 'Conall'," Drake sniffed, haughtily.
Ron and Hermione were watching this by-play with fascination. For them, Conall's actions was like watching a mongoose 'playing' with a poisonous snake.
Conall gave a low laugh at his husband's antics. "I'm glad you have a sense of humour about it, love."
Now Ron, at least, was looking at Conall as though he'd gone mad. This was humour?
Drake stopped walking, pulling Conall up short as well, then pulled his husband into a deep, heartfelt kiss. "I've been well compensated," he said.
"If there weren't so many people around, I'd take you right here, right now," Conall growled quietly into his lover's ear.
Drake shivered with delight over the mental image, then growled, himself, that there were obstacles to making that image real. "That was cruel, lover," he whispered back. "You'd best make it up to me."
"As soon as possible," Conall answered, nuzzling the blond's neck, then licking it from the base, to his mate's jaw, causing Draco to arch his head up, and back; an instinctive, silent request for more of the same.
That was too much for Ron. "My eyes, my eyes! They'll never be innocent again! That was not a memory I needed, guys," he groaned.
Conall was a little annoyed, but mostly amused by Ron's theatrics. "Then don't look!" he said, grinning.
"Not that I want to get rid of you, or at least one of you, but the day isn't getting any younger," Hermione said.
Conall sighed. "Quite right, 'Mione. We need to get as far away as possible before dark. With so many Death Eaters interested in doing me in, there are bound to be at least a few spying on Hogwarts, looking for a chance to get at me; and now Drake, as well, I'm sure. Anything to hurt me."
"My, but we don't sound half full of ourselves, now do we?" Drake drawled. "It's not paranoia if someone is actually out to harm you, but you do take it to extremes, love."
Conall blushed. "Maybe," he mumbled, "but since we'd have a hard time defending ourselves right now, I don't want to take chances."
"Dobby and Twinkie is being good protectors! Master Conall is not be needing to worry; we keep him and Master Drake safe!" Dobby declared.
Thinking back to certain events in his life involving the diminutive elf, Conall felt at least a little better. "I'm sure you can, Dobby. You too, Twinkie; and thank you."
"It be Dobby's duty! Dobby is being very happy to serve the master!" the elf replied. Twinkie was nodding furiously, agreeing with Dobby's every word.
"Well, as the saying goes, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step." I think we'd best start taking some steps," Conall said, in an attempt to change the subject.
"What saying is that, anyway? Sounds very simplistic," Drake remarked, as they headed off again.
"Actually, I don't remember who said it. It's from a famous muggle, anyway."
"Well, that..."
Drake was interrupted by Hermione, who didn't want to hear another 'mudblood' comment. "Actually, that was a misquote. It was a famous Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, who said "A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.""
"Trust you to know that, Granger," Drake said. He didn't put the usual venom in it, though, causing the young woman to glance at him in surprise, but she refrained from comment. For a change, so did Ron.
At the border of the school's property, there was another awkward leave-taking.
Hermione was crying, and fussing with Conall's shirt collar, just for something to keep her hands busy, and distract her a little from what was happening. "You be careful out there, you hear? The Death Eaters still want you dead, you know, and even more so now that Malfoy's dead. They blame you for that, somehow."
Ron had sidled up to them during this short speech, putting an arm around both Hermione and Conall, while leaving Drake, just a half-step away, out in the cold. Conall, noticing this, pulled slightly away from his friends, and pulled his lover into a one-armed hug, then attempted to pull him into the group hug, as well.

Drake refused to join in, on principle. If he wasn't welcomed by Conall's friends to begin with, to be pulled in now only by his mate would be - demeaning.

Sensing his mate's dilemma, Conall gave his old friends one last, quick hug, and then rejoined his husband. Then addressing his old friends, he said "I hope we meet again, but if we don't, I just have this to say: Don't fill up the world with little red-heads!" He winked broadly at them, laughing, and turned to go.
"Yeah, mate? Well, I hope your life's so bloody boring, you get yourself a pack of children; even if they are half snarky blond!" Ron replied, smirking at Drake.
"Love you, too, Weasley," Draco drawled, "but believe it or not, I think I'd like that. Well, making them, anyway."
"Oy, Malfoy! Now I'm going to have to wash my mind out with soap!" Ron groaned. "But you take good care of Har- Um, Conall. If that means you have to come back too, I'll deal with it. Good journey."
"May your cup never be empty, your trencher ever full, and the road you travel be smooth and dry," Hermione said. At everyone's confused stares, she said "An old Celtic travel blessing, I think. Even if it's not, I just thought it was appropriate," she explained, blushing.
"Thank you, Hermione," Conall said, hugging her. When he released her, he left her with an admonishment. "You take care of this red-headed git, now, and keep him out of trouble!"
"Hey! I can take care of myself, Harry!" the red-head said, blushing. At Conall's raised eyebrow, Ron corrected himself. "Um... Conall, I mean. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it, Ron. It's not like you're going to have much chance to practice, anyway."
At that, Hermione started crying, again. "Hey, where's that Gryffindor courage, 'Mione? You're going to make the House look bad," Conall said gently, wiping a tear away. "Hey, Ron - aren't you the one that should be comforting your girlfriend?"
Ron stepped in, shame-faced, and gathered Hermione into his arms. "It's been great, mate. You'll be coming back someday, won't you?"
Frowning, Conall replied. "I don't know, Ron. Maybe someday." 'If we live,' was the unspoken part of that sentence.
With a final round of hugs, including Drake this time, they parted; the Gryffindors heading back towards Hogwarts, the Veela couple and their elven guides/protectors heading off towards the northeast, and an as-yet-unknown destination.
After a couple of hours of travel, Conall had a revelation, and shared it with his lover. "You know, Drake, I'm rather glad to be out from under all that back there; even Ron and Hermione," he said, tossing it out as though commenting on the weather.
Drake stopped a moment in shock, then hurried to catch up. "You're - glad - to be shut of Granger and Weasley?"
Conall shrugged. "They were good friends, but they were smothering me half to death! I couldn't make a move without them fussing, or having to be with me. A person needs their space every once in a while."
"Even from me?" Drake asked quietly.
Conall laughed. "Don't get your hopes up, Drake! You're more than a friend; you're more an extension of myself, and I'm not about to part with any bit of me!"
Drake smirked, waggling his eyebrows at his mate. "None of it?"
Conall blushed, but allowed that certain...fluids...could certainly be let go of, if they went somewhere where they were appreciated.

They had managed about thirty kilometres before they were finally forced to stop and set up camp. The route Dobby was taking them on steered quite wide of human habitation. That made sense. If you were a magical creature trying to avoid detection, there were bound to be such trails mapped out, and the elves would know of them.
After preparing the campsite, and everyone had gone behind the bushes to relieve themselves, Dobby and Twinkie prepared to ward the site for the night. Each went to opposite sides of the campsite, and faced inward towards the centre. They held their hands slightly out to their sides, then with a quick up-and-down movement of their arms, a sparkling blue dome appeared, the perimeter just behind them, then faded from view.
Dobby and Twinkie then got busy preparing a meal for the young men. Conall and Drake just sat back on a blanket and tried to recuperate from the day's exertions.
Suddenly Drake turned to his mate. "So are we going to carry on with this farce, or can we drop it, now?"
"What?" the raven-haired lad inquired.
"This bloody name nonsense! I fell in love with Harry Potter, not 'Conall D'Lumière'. I don't mind keeping the last name, since it has far more class than Potter, Potter-Malfoy or Malfoy-Potter, but I want my Harry back!"
Surprised at this outburst, the former Gryffindor looked at his mate, only to find unshed tears filling those silvery-gray eyes. "It means that much to you? Why didn't you say anything at the ceremony?"
"Well, I was just as overset with the old fool's attempts at manipulation as you were, wasn't I? Couldn't let him get away with it, could I? So I followed your lead, didn't I?" the blond said, accusingly.
"Draco! Street English? Where did you pick that up?"
The younger man mumbled something that Conall, who was now reconsidering the name, didn't quite catch. "What was that?"
"The gardeners, all right?" Draco almost shouted. "They were my only company, most of the time. Father didn't mind that so much, but he didn't half put the boot in when I started talking like them. Like that, for instance. That's when the house elves took over their work. Never did learn if they were merely let go, or if something worse happened to them."
"So, since you called me Draco, may I assume that we're taking back our original first names?" Draco asked, hopefully.
"If it means that much to you, my love, then may I put Harry D'Lumière at your service? I mainly did it to foil Dumbledore, anyway."
"If you're at my service, Harry, then service me."
"Any time, Draco," Harry replied, "but we seem to be lacking in privacy."
Draco didn't answer; he just jumped Harry, hungrily, eagerly capturing his lips, arms wrapped 'round him like a strangling vine. Harry decided that if Draco could ignore his upbringing enough to forget propriety and the need for privacy, then he could do no less. He was only dimly aware of Twinkie casting privacy charms and wards around them as he rolled a willing Draco over, beneath him.
Looking down into the smiling face of his lover, Harry was struck anew with how much he loved this young man. The tenderness he felt far outweighed his lust, though that was undeniably there. He slowly lowered his head, and gently kissed his husband's lips, lingering, exploring as though it were the first time he'd done so. When his neck got tired, he licked his way along Draco's jaw to his ear, where he did a little nibbling before attacking the sensitive spot behind the earlobe with his tongue, causing his bonded to moan with pleasure and delight.
Draco's hands were wandering over all of Harry's body that he could reach, occasionally gripping tightly as his husband played with a particularly sensitive spot, grasping most often at Harry's arse or in his hair. Eventually he started getting impatient, wanting more, and started fumbling with his mate's clothing. It was challenging, with Harry teasingly refusing to cooperate, but seeming to mindlessly keep up with his ministrations. Draco knew, through their link, that his lover was teasing him, and awkwardly hit Harry in the arm. "Git! Help me!"
Pretending innocence, Harry asked "Help you with what, love?"
"Stop playing dumb, Harry!" Draco pouted. "You're not cooperating!"
Grinning, Harry said, between little love bites here and there on his love's body, "Oh? - And - what - do you - need - help - with?"
This treatment had Draco gasping and squeaking; he'd never seen his lover like this, and though he was a bit uncertain, he thought he liked it. But now he was having trouble concentrating on getting words out. Finally, he managed one: "Naked..." he gasped out - then another, "now!"
As is always the case when one is in a hurry, inanimate objects become perverse, and refuse to cooperate. Finally, however, they were free of constraints; free to see, feel, taste, every square centimetre of skin. Harry proceeded to give his mate a tongue bath, reveling in the smell of his husband after a long day's walking, the clean sweaty taste as his tongue entered every hollow and crevice of his mate's body, before taking Draco's manhood into his mouth, exulting in its silky hardness, and the juices weeping from its tip. He worshipped it with his mouth, laved it with his tongue, and took its full length into his throat as Draco writhed under him, hands gripped tightly in Harry's raven locks, urging him on. Harry felt his mate's impending release coming ever closer and backed off, wanting to taste every drop of his love's offering.
Draco sensed that desire through their link, and suppressed his urge to thrust deeply into his mate's throat; not that he suffered for that decision, because Harry was doing wicked things with his tongue to the head of Draco's cock. Finally, he could hold back no more, and exploded into his lover's mouth, flooding it with his cream, pulsing out his lust, over and over again.
Harry swallowed quickly, not wishing to waste a drop; but still a small bit dribbled out the corner of his mouth, although he didn't notice it. When Draco stopped cumming, he carefully cleaned his lover's cock, and then moved up to kiss him.
Draco noticed the dribble, and licked it off his husband's face, before giving him a thank-you kiss that was no less passionate and deep for its tenderness. Then he reached down between his husband's legs and stroked the hardness there a few times, before raising his own legs and offering himself up. He guided his mate to his entrance, and arched into it as he was penetrated. The feel of his lover's hot hardness filling him was exquisite in itself, but when Harry very gently and deliberately hit his prostate, he couldn't help but moan and arch into it. Draco was soon hard again. They fell into a rhythm, each arcing to meet the other; harder and faster, sweat beading up on their skins. Sharing what they were feeling with each other only intensified their passion, building to a mighty climax; and they did, together, at the same moment.
In the afterglow, Harry stayed coupled with his mate, lowering his head to tenderly, tiredly, kiss Draco's eyes, his nose, his lips - anything and everything he could reach without much effort. To his surprise, he stayed hard, but he could feel that Draco was becoming hungry, and he had to admit that his own stomach was complaining of neglect. "Mmmm... I'd love another round with you, you delectable creature, but I believe we need to think of other needs, now; like food?"
Draco gave a light chuckle. "I'd rather stay attached to you, but unfortunately, I think you may be right. Later?"
"Food now; loving later."
"That's what I meant, you git, and you know it!"
Harry gave a warning thrust. "Now, is that any way to talk, for someone in your position?"
At the thrust, Draco had instinctively thrust back. "Ah! Keep that up, and supper will be ruined before we get to it!"
"What? This?" Harry gave another thrust, then stopped.
"Uh! Harry! Later! - I think. Maybe..."
Harry laughed, and then gently pulled out of his mate, causing a groan of disappointment, and a pout to form on the young blond man's face. "Spoilsport."
That occasioned a full belly laugh. Draco tried to keep a pout on his face, but couldn't restrain a grin at having caused his mate's laughter. They wiped themselves off as best they could with a cloth, dressed, and then left the charmed area to rejoin the elves, and supper.
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Light of Heaven